Little One
by NeverOnEarth
Summary: MAJOR SPOILER ALERT for PL 6. Raymond is shocked to discover the Reinel family's abduction, and after learning that one of the children was adopted and not the other, he immediately sets off towards the house on the hill. My version of why Raymond is so loyal to his master, and how the two of them met. Rating just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Little One.**

**AN: I could start this off by saying I'm new here, but I won't, because I'm technically not. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Em's sister. So I know quite a lot about the PL fanfiction world, as well as some of the creepy forums you guys get yourselves into. But I won't say more than that. Because that is not the point of an Author's Note. Instead of my biography, you're supposed to be reading this (so whoever has read this whole thing, you didn't have to. It was pointless):**

**I decided to try my luck at PL fics just to see how they go. This story is based off a theory that has been, as far as I can tell from every single one of the Azran legacies spoilers, neither confirmed nor denied, and a theory that I think is only reasonable. If it's not true, then I'll just keep believing my theory anyway. And yes, it is about Dessy. How could it not be? Also, just in case I haven't made it clear yet, this contains MAJOR SPOILERS for Azran Legacies. If you haven't seen the 'Descole's Identity' video, then the names will really throw you. You have been warned...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Layton (sigh) or any of the franchise (sigh) or Descole (starts bawling like crazy). Level 5 does, though (sigh)**.

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Raymond had heard it from the old lady next door, who had heard it from her friend, who had heard it from her sister.

The Reinel family had been kidnapped.

"Only the parents, mind you," the old lady, Mrs Tigget, had said. "Little Hershel and Repard were left behind. But Hershel was adopted a few weeks ago, or so I'm told."

Raymond had found himself staring blankly at the woman as she rambled on about 'Layton' and 'Government Organizations'. Why had the news taken this long to reach him? Three weeks after the incident, no less. And this town was so small.

"...The poor dear," Mrs Tigget finished, "I'm afraid we'll have to fear the worse for little Repard."

"And no one has checked the house yet?" Raymond pressed, suddenly feeling very drained, "The police? Anyone?"

Mrs Tigget frowned. "Nobody, I believe," she replied, "Not yet - Where are you going?"

Raymond turned to look at her for a moment. "To find little Repard," he said, and was off down the street.

Now, Raymond was a bright man, and he knew that Hershel - the sweet child - was incredibly clever for his age. The boy's devotion for his younger brother wouldn't allow him to leave the two year old behind only to be adopted himself. Raymond found that it just didn't add up, and so he quickened his pace.

The Reinel's lived - or used to live - in a neat house at the top of the hill, with a tidy garden and a low stone wall. It had always looked homey and warm. The climb to the top of the hill had left the thirty-two year old man huffing slightly, and as he gazed through the empty windows, Raymond found the Reinel's house, for the first time ever, to be radiating loneliness.

The gate was unlocked, and so was the front door. Raymond let himself in, and the house was freezing. An obvious reminder that winter was approaching - and fast.

"Hello?" Raymond called, and his breath came out in a thin wisp of steam. There was no answer, and so he called again. "Hershel? Repard? Are you here? It's Raymond." Still there was silence, but something in the back of his mind kept him from leaving.

He swiftly checked the bedrooms upstairs, calling gently every now and then. When rendered unsuccessful, Raymond began to search the downstairs area. The kitchen, dining and living rooms were empty. Bronev's study was empty, but looked as though it had been torn apart by wolves. The next room was the library, and Raymond found the door ajar.

First he just saw books - they lay all over the floor, scattered, torn, ruined. But in a neat pile in the very middle were what looked like the remainder of the still legible books. And in the middle of that, pale as death, and in a crumpled heap, was -

"Hershel!" Raymond rushed forwards, feeling desperately for a pulse. The boy's skin was cold, but the pulse was still there - fluttery and weak as it was. The man shrugged off his coat and, with utmost care, wrapped the child in it, noting as he did so how thin Hershel had become, and lifted the boy into his arms.

But then he paused in indecision. The quicker the boy reached warmth, the better. There was a bed upstairs. It would suffice until the proper medical services could arrive. However, there was another part of him urging to take the child to his own home, and to care for him there. _After all_, the little part of him said reasonably, _you were studying to be a doctor._

It didn't take long for Raymond to decide, and soon he was running, as gently as he could, back down the hill and past Mrs Tigget, who gaped.

"Isn't that-?"

"Hershel, yes." Raymond finished for her.

The old lady stared. "But I thought-"

Raymond slowed as he passed her gate, contemplating his actions. "Mrs Tigget," he said finally, "Please come inside. I may need your help."

She shut her mouth and nodded twice, following Raymond through his garden and to his front door, where he fumbled with the knob for a moment, and then raced straight to his living room, where he deposited Hershel on the lounge and made his way to his bedroom, calling over his shoulder, "May you boil some water please, Mrs Tigget? For the hot water bottle?"

He pulled, from his cupboard, as many spare blankets as he could find, then felt around until his fingers found the hot water bottle. He returned to the living room and removed the child's shoes, then spread the blankets over his body, smiling reassuringly over at Mrs Tigget when she came back in.

"He needs to be kept as warm as possible," he explained as he took the jug and precariously tipped the boiling contents into the hot water bottle, "Of all the times for this to happen - just before winter." he slipped it beneath the blankets and lowered himself into a nearby armchair. Mrs Tigget did likewise nearby and gazed sadly at Hershel's still form.

"Where was he?" she asked finally, and Raymond sighed, relating to her the events since his sudden departure.

"The Laytons," she muttered, "They thought they'd adopted Hershel. It was Renard, obviously. Do you think Hershel swapped their names?"

Raymond smiled sadly. "Most likely," he said, "Hershel is a smart boy, and he loves his brother too much to just desert him. It just shows you what people will do for their own family."

"And he's only ... six?" Mrs Tigget mopped at her eyes. "Life can be so cruel. And he's so young."

"He turns seven in spring," Raymond smiled fondly, but this was soon replaced with a worried expression. "It's a wonder he's survived this longer. Did nobody bother to check on him?"

Mrs Tigget shook her head. "Nobody. I would've, but this hip replacement," she gestured at her mid-section, "prevents me from doing anything. I can't even work in the garden any more!"

They both drifted into silence, and Raymond stared at little Hershel's porcelain white complexion, coming to a quick conclusion.

"Mrs Tigget," he began slowly, "I need this to be kept a secret. Between you and me. I have a feeling - giving Hershel to the authorities, the orphanage, isn't the best thing for him. The questions, the atmosphere; it would be too much for him. I think we should keep him here. Until he is well, and ready to do what he likes."

The old woman was silent, but then smiled at him kindly. "I agree," she said. "And I'll help you care for him. Hershel has been through a lot."

Raymond felt himself release the breath he had not realised he had been holding, and allowed himself a grateful smile. Taking one of Hershel's hands in his own, he felt the skin slowly regaining warmth, and he relaxed.

However, he could see, even with Hershel's body under the blankets, how thin the once healthy child had become. _And the damage is done_, he thought mournfully, _this ordeal will affect him for the rest of his life, both physically and mentally._

The two adults drifted into silence again, waiting for the child to wake.

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**AN: I could leave this as a one-shot ...but I won't. I have too many ideas to just leave it this way. If you can, please press that button down there that says 'Review'. I appreciate feedback on my work!**

**Peace is a blessing, so treasure it always!**

**Noe.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Little One.**

**AN: So, after much pestering (coughEmcough), threats, and Kleenex tissue boxes, I have decided to be kind to you all and make this story multi-chapter. Even though that was my intention in the first place, but I mislead you. Muahaha. Also, to my reviewers, thanks again! And to Newzealandkiwi, whom I could not thank personally, I'm eternally grateful for your review! A writer is always glad to know that their work is appreciated! Now to the second chapter of my apparently much anticipated story...**

**Disclaimer: See chapter one. It's all in there...**

* * *

Mrs Tigget had eventually retired to her own home as the sky began to darken, leaving Raymond alone with Hershel.

It was disturbing to note how still the child was, and the pallor of his skin did nothing to help. The boy was certainly warming up, but slowly. And this left Raymond with a growing sense of fear.

How long had Hershel been in the cold, all on his own? Had Raymond come too late? Was he past the point of recovery? The more the man thought about it, the worse the situation seemed to become, and Raymond found himself checking the boy's pulse again and again.

It was still there, every time.

The hours came and went. Midnight passed, but still Raymond struggled to stay awake. One o'clock, two o'clock. The man's bleary eyes almost failed to register the minute movement of Hershel's arm beneath the blankets. He blinked, and his head cleared. The boy gave a soft, almost inaudible moan.

Raymond knelt by his side and squeezed the child's hand. "That's it," he urged, "Go on, little Hershel, wake up!"

There was a long period of silence. Then Hershel's eyelids flickered and opened, revealing the disoriented lavender irises beneath. Raymond waited with bated breath as the child blinked a few times, clearing his foggy mind, and then the large orbs focused on him.

"Mister ...Raymond?" his voice was dry and sandpapery, and Raymond nodded, smiling gently.

"You gave me quite a scare, young one," he said softly, and Hershel blinked, staring owlishly with open curiosity at his surroundings, before his gaze snapped back to Raymond again.

"Where's daddy?" The child demanded, but his voice was barely a hoarse whisper, "Is that why I'm here? Have Mummy and Daddy escaped? Has Repard come home yet? Are we hiding so that Targent don't come to find us?" This last sentence was said with a great deal of bitterness.

Raymond was lost for words as he stared into Hershel's pleading, yet slightly sparking, eyes, feeling helpless as he opened his mouth, but no words came out. The boy seemed to understand, though, and his eyes filled with tears. Raymond could do nothing but envelop the child in a hug as he cried shamelessly into the man's shoulder.

Raymond found that it seemed to go on for decades. Every sob broke his heart, and in a fruitless attempt at comfort, he began stroking Hershel's hair, rocking backwards and forwards until the sobs turned into hiccups, and the man managed to press a glass of water into Hershel's hands, helping him support the cup in his weak grasp.

"I can't be called Hershel any more, Mister Raymond," the boy said finally, looking up at the man with glistening eyes and a choked voice. "Repard is Hershel now. The Layton's wanted to adopt me, so ...so I..." he broke off again and buried his face in Raymond's Jacket, his entire frame wracking with the force of every sob.

_Weeks worth of bottled up grief, and anger_, Raymond thought to himself as he began whispering soothing words into Hershel's ear. It wasn't long before the boy quietened again, and his breathing evened out to form a regular sleeping pattern. Raymond gently shifted the child's exhausted form back onto the pillows and exhaled slowly, burying his own face in his hands.

Mrs Tigget's arrival a few hours later was a welcome distraction. She smiled at him and nodded in Hershel's direction.

"Is he alright?" she whispered, "Has he woken up or eaten anything?"

Raymond waved her into the spare armchair. "He woke up a few hours ago. But he fell asleep again before he could do much at all." Mrs Tigget's face was sober as he explained what had happened.

"So he did swap names with Repard," she said sadly, "The poor dear. That was so brave of him, but I do wonder why he didn't search for help afterwards." Raymond didn't answer right away, and was silent for a long while.

"Because he still believed that his parents might come back," he said finally, "Sending Repard - I mean Hershel - away was a safety precaution until their possible return." Raymond felt tears sting his eyes, "I think he's finally accepted the truth now, if his reaction was anything to go by."

Mrs Tigget sniffed. "I suppose that the 'Targent' organisation he talked about was the same one that kidnapped his parents?" She asked, and Raymond nodded.

"It would seem so," he said, "He spoke about it with so much loathing. It's incredible that one so young can harbor so much hate."

"And it's wrong," Mrs Tigget added, "that he should have reason to hate in the first place. He'll never forget about it."

Raymond sighed. "I know. But the most we can do for now is give him as much love as possible."

"But he didn't eat anything?" Mrs Tigget pressed, glad to have a chance to change the subject. Raymond shook his head, and she frowned. "Next time he wakes up, we should have something on hand. God forbid, he needs to eat _something_." She shuffled off into the kitchen, and Raymond sighed, relaxing into the armchair and letting his eyes drop for just a moment...

His mind slowly climbed back into awareness what seemed like minutes, but must have been hours, later. Raymond, however, didn't move, as he heard soft voices on his right.

"When I grow up, I'll chase them down and rescue my parents and then make them pay for what they did to my family!"

"_Surely_ you don't mean that, Hershel!" Mrs Tigget admonished. Raymond could almost see her worried face.

"I do," the boy replied, but his voice sounded as though he had been crying again, "Because they ruined our lives on purpose, and so they deserve no better."

There was silence, and Raymond pictured Hershel staring up at the old lady with tear stained cheeks and fiery eyes. Then there was a rustle of fabric.

"I'm sorry that this had to happen to you, Hershel." The old lady said, her own voice sounding choked. There was a muffled, almost incredulous sounding reply. Raymond finally decided to open his eyes.

Mrs Tigget was drawing back from Hershel, who was holding a book in his hands, and was wearing a sincere expression. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Raymond.

"I've changed my name, Mister Raymond," he said, holding up the book. Mrs Tigget looked round at him and smiled, mopping her eyes with her handkerchief. Raymond frowned slightly.

"Are you sure you can't just stay as Hershel?" he asked gently, but the boy shook his head.

"No. That's my brother's name now. And if I still keep calling myself Hershel, then I'll be stealing _his_ name." His eyes welled up with tears again, but he dashed them away, as if he were annoyed.

"Well then," said Mrs Tigget, "would you like to tell him, little one?"

'Hershel' nodded and opened the book, holding it out for Raymond to see.

"Jean Descole," he said, with an air of finality. "See? It says here that he's a hero who saved his family. I want to be like _that_."

Raymond looked. Depicted on the page was a painting of a man, having what looked like a fencing match, while a few huddled figures stood in the background. Raymond gazed at it for a few seconds, but then he looked up and smiled.

"It's an honorable choice for a name," he said, and Hershel - now little 'Jean Descole' - nodded solemnly, looking glad of the approval, and sunk back onto his pillows.

"I hope the Laytons are treating my brother well," he said wistfully. "I'm glad that they heard about what had happened, and that they didn't find out that I'd tricked them." 'Jean' looked up at Raymond suddenly, with a panicked expression. "What if they do find out?" he asked, "Will they send Renard - I mean Hershel - back?" Mrs Tigget was quick to comfort him.

"It will be alright," she soothed, "They won't find out. And they definitely won't send him back." Jean relaxed again, and Mrs Tigget quickly said, "Would you like some hot chocolate, sweetheart?" the boy nodded, and she bustled out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. The child instantly looked up at Raymond again.

"Will I be living with you now, Mister Raymond?" Jean asked. Raymond smiled softly at him.

"It's really up to you, young one," he said, "but you will be for as long as it takes for you to heal."

The child was silent in contemplative thought. "I think ...I will," was his final reply, "because I can't look after myself. I ran out of food back ...back at my _old_ house. And it's nice here."

Raymond almost sighed in relief. "I'm glad, Jean. I'm glad."

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**AN: Aaaaaaaand that is it! Chapter two! I suppose I have no choice but to continue this story now. I also hope that none of you used too many tissues this time. Anyway, reviews are loved and constructive criticism is highly appreciated!**

**Peace is a blessing, so treasure it always!**

**Noe.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Little One.**

**AN: Ah. It seems I got a little careless with the last chapter. Hrm. But now I look back at the document, there are no mistakes on it. WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY STORY, FAN-FICTION?! This next chapter is also skipping a few weeks ahead in time. Just in case I don't make it clear in the story. And it is also very long... Anyway, since I didn't thank those of you who I could have thanked personally via PM, I shall thank you now:**

**Em: I hardly have to do this. I could just walk about three meters to say it to your face, but you are AN EQUAL TO EVERYONE ELSE. So, thanks for your review.**

**Miss Descole: Yay! I'm glad you like it! Thanks!**

**The Mocking J: Phew. No tissues needed. I'm glad that you're glad that I'm continuing it! I always thought that Dessy seemed the bookish type. It sort of made sense to me that he got his name out of a book. I'm glad that I outlined the 'turning bitter' thing. I was a bit worried about that. (Btw, thank you for also pointing the Repard/Renard thing. It should all be Repard now :))**

**Abitat Eco: YAY! UPDATES! AND NOW I MUST STOP ABUSING THE CAPS LOCK AND EXCLAMATION POINT KEYS! (Stuff the exclamation point:))! I'm glad that you like the 'Dessy's name' idea! It's nice to see what people think! Thank you so much for all the support! And since I wrote this whole thing ending each sentence with an exclamation point I shall finish it off like that too! XD(!)**

**indiebookworm: I'm glad that you like it! Thank you so much!**

**Nipah-Chan: Love it... Hate it... Love it? Yay! I'm glad you think that it's well written! That's my biggest worry. Enjoy your chocolate and... uh... Sorry about the tissues...**

**I shall attempt to privately thank you next time. But this time I ...forgot. Well, there you go! Oh! And happy (late) Easter everybody! Now, to chapter three! (Argh, crazy exclamation points!) :/**

**Disclaimer: It's in chapter one. Yes, I know, it's annoying. You poor people can't sue me.**

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Mrs Tigget had come rushing in around about midday, and Raymond had never been so glad that Jean spent so much time up in his room.

"There are uniformed men up at the Reinel's house!" she exclaimed in hushed tones, as though the men were but a few meters away.

Raymond frowned, and walked swiftly over to the window in a hopeless attempt to see the top of the hill. "Do you think that it's Targent?" he asked softly, and the old woman nodded, fingers pressed to her lips. Raymond sighed resignedly. "It wasn't unexpected," he said finally, "I suppose we'll have to end up moving then.

It was now just over a month after he had found Jean. The child had healed surprisingly quickly, and now looked as healthy as ever, despite his being abnormally thin. However, the boy spent most of his time up in his room, reading and, occasionally, drawing. Since this generally left the downstairs area child-free, Raymond and Mrs Tigget had been hard at work deciding what to do.

Jean wouldn't be able to attend school here again, now with a different name, no legal guardians besides his kidnapped parents and his supposed 'disappearance', it was certainly out of the question. It was also painfully obvious that Jean was often upset upon seeing a certain place or thing. His frequent visits to his old house were another matter entirely.

The first time Jean had snuck out, Raymond had followed him, worried that the boy might be seen but feeling too nervous to stop him. The child had entered the house around midnight. Raymond had remained crouched behind a bush for the rest of the night until just before dawn, when Jean had slipped out again, now carrying an armful of books. Raymond had not confronted him about this escapade, nor about any of the ones that followed, much to Mrs Tigget's annoyance.

"It's unfair to the child," she had said one day, "to allow him to continue to torture himself in that way. You'll have to move, Raymond, at some point or other. It's only best for _him_. Think about Jean!"

Indeed, the more Jean continued to slip out of the house, the more Raymond heard him crying at night, and the more the man considered Mrs Tigget's suggestion - if you could call it that - as a kinder thing for him to do.

"My mother left me a house close to London when she passed away," he relented finally to Mrs Tigget's pestering. And that was that.

Little Jean's reaction to the news that they might be moving had been a strange one. His face had screwed up slightly and his eyes had, for a terrifying instant, become very cold and sharp. "That's alright, Mister Raymond," he had said, but his night-time trips had tripled in number after that. And Raymond was finding it harder and harder to pretend to ignore the books stacked all around the boy's room.

"Where's Jean?" The old lady beside him asked, jerking Raymond back to the present. There was something about that comment that made his heart plummet.

Raymond glanced at the staircase. "He should be up in his room," he said, but felt his own confidence slipping away as he spoke, and was ascending the stairs before he really knew what he was doing. After a few knocks on Jean's door rendered him unsuccessful, Raymond felt himself begin to panic in earnest, hoping fruitlessly that Jean wasn't where the man thought he was, and he flung the door open.

The boy's room was empty, with the window gaping. A slight breeze wafted the curtains over an open book on the floor. Raymond stooped to pick it up.

'_The Azrans.' _it read_, 'A fabled civilisation of people known for being ultimately superior in all aspects over other races. It is said that they possessed great wealth and power, and that they left three, arguably four, legacies behind after the demise of their reign, hidden in unknown locations across the globe, only able to be discovered by those "Sharp of mind", to quote a notable historian. The majority of scientists and historians all over the world are doubtful that such things as "The Golden Garden," "The Lost City Of Ambrosia," and "The Infinite Chamber Of Akbadain" exist. However there are still those who believe that the legacies of the Azran lie just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.'_

The historian's quote had been circled in pencil, and then joined with a source down the bottom of the page which read: _'The Azran Legacies by S. J. Foster , Chapter One, Page Thirty-Four, Cup-O'-Tea Publishing Incorporated.'_

Raymond only had to read the first few words to know for sure where Jean was. He was streaking down the stairs in a matter of seconds, past Mrs Tigget's anxious old face and out onto the street. He puffed up the hill and, upon almost reaching the top, ducked into some bushes, allowing his breathing to even out as he crept along the ground, heart pumping.

Raymond reached the garden wall and chanced a glance over it, rewarded, for a split second, with the back of a blue and white suit.

"Did you find it?" a low voice inquired, and Raymond felt a twinge of recognition.

"Now, now," said another voice - a much icier voice that sent chills down Raymond's spine, "You must remember that you are very lucky to be let into our ranks at all, let alone the position you are in. Remember your place, General."

"Yes, Commander. My apologies," mumbled the first man. Raymond strained his mind to recall the face to which that voice belonged, but his efforts were in vain, and he was rewarded with nothing but a headache.

"Did you find it, soldier?" inquired the second, colder voice, and Raymond found that, in a way that he could not quite explain, he was feeling anxious for the man on the receiving end of the question.

There was a sound of shuffling feet, and Raymond barely heard the "No, sir," the soldier gave as an answer. For it was then that he saw Jean, straining to see over the wall, clutching a massive book in his arms. And the book was slowly slipping...

Raymond dived forward and covered the boy's mouth with his hand, dragging him into a bush as the book fell -

_Thump_!

"-Must've taken - _what was that_?"

The man who Raymond supposed was the Commander abruptly stopped talking. Even Jean, who had been struggling against Raymond, stayed still long enough for the man to show the child who he was as the three men on the other side of the wall came round.

"Do you think it was the children, sir?" asked the third voice - the soldier.

"The children? Yes. I believe it was them. And I think that they have made off with our book."

Raymond held his breath as the pairs of trousered legs - one white, one black, one blue - came to a stop just in front of the bush he and Jean were hidden in. The boy was trembling against him, and Raymond glanced down. The child's face was pale, but his eyes held an indescribable fury.

Yes, Raymond thought warily, these people _had_ to be Targent.

"They can't be far away," the commander's voice was almost mocking as the black trousered legs began to pace from bush to bush, "And they should know that it's useless to try and hide." Raymond pushed himself as far back as the prickly branches would allow him, glancing from the approaching feet to the book lying not too far away, the corner sticking out into the open.

_Look at the book!_ Raymond found himself praying, _Look over there! Look at the book_!

"Sir!" came a voice from the house, "Sir, we may have found something!"

The black-clad trousers halted. Then the commander sighed. "Come," he said to the other two, "This may be something of use."

As soon as their footsteps faded, Raymond hoisted Jean up with one arm, took the book in the other, and bolted from the scene - back onto the footpath, and back down the hill to the safety of his own house.

"Their commander and their general were right there, Mister Raymond!" Jean exclaimed as soon as the man set him down, young voice shaking with rage, "We could've taken them down together and stopped their plans!"

Raymond shook his head, still breathless from the run. "It wouldn't have been that simple, lad," he gasped. Jean frowned, then pouted, but said nothing.

Mrs Tigget came rushing to the front gate, waving her hands in an agitated manner. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "You two came rushing down the hill like two spooked animals! What happened - never mind that now, I could hazard a guess! Quickly, inside, where it's safe! I daresay those soldiers noticed something!"

She bustled them into the kitchen and closed all the curtains, turning back to them with a frown. "Did they see you? Is that it? Did those intruders catch you two hanging around?" She glanced at Jean, opening her mouth as though to demand what he could have possibly been thinking, but seemed to think better of it.

"No, Mrs Tigget," Jean said softly, "They didn't see us. They almost did, though! We were hiding, and their leader was looking for us." Jean scrunched his nose up like there was a bad smell in the room. "But we beat them!" he exclaimed suddenly, "We took what they wanted, and we beat them!"

Mrs Tigget turned to Raymond. "What is all that about?" she asked, her frown melting into a worried expression again. Raymond sighed, and gave her what he hoped was a meaningful glance, turning to Jean instead.

"You scared us half to death, young one," he said sternly, but not unkindly, "What made you want to go up there at this time of day?"

Jean's face flushed crimson, and he looked down at his hands and began to swing his legs nervously back and forth. "I... I read a book," he began, "And it was talking about the things that... that Targent want to get their hands on." he stopped for a moment, then continued, "It had the name of another book in there that might help me find out more. And I knew that I'd seen it before in our old Library. So I went to look for it. And I've decided," his voice grew a little stronger, "that I will find the Azran legacies before Targent. Because my father wanted to find them, and because Targent are like the evil people in stories. And evil people _aren't allowed to win!" _

It was at that moment, Raymond later decided, that his devotion to the child became absolute. It was in that incredibly innocent, yet incredibly powerful little speech that had also prompted him to really start thinking about moving.

Jean was gazing up at him with fiery, determined eyes. Raymond closed his eyes and swallowed.

"You're right, little one," he said, "Evil people aren't supposed to win. But please, please don't run off like that again. Today might not have been a one off. You never know if you might run into those men up there again. Now take this," he held up the thick volume and Jean nodded, carefully lifting it from Raymond's hands.

"Do you and Mrs Tigget want to have a talk now, Mister Raymond?"

Raymond smiled a little, and nodded. As soon as Jean vanished upstairs again, he let the smile slip from his face and buried it in his hands.

"That boy is going to be the death of me!"

There was a rustling sound as Mrs Tigget moved to sit beside him. "What was all that about?" she prompted, "What was that book? And why did you come rushing down here like a chicken with your head cut off? Was it Targent you were hiding from?"

Raymond slowly raised his head to look at her. "Yes," he sighed, "Yes, it was Targent. As for the book... It is as Jean said. He was reading a text, then found something of interest and went to investigate. He owes that to his ever unquenchable curiosity." Mrs Tigget continued to look dissatisfied, and so Raymond wearily launched into a full account of what had happened, starting from his 'finding of the book' to the Targent men's conversation, then to his sudden departure. Mrs Tigget was visibly horrified.

"They could have seen you!" she hissed, "In fact, they probably did see you! The way you came crashing through the bushes, it's a wonder that the whole army wasn't on your tail!"

Raymond felt his frustration building. "Well, what would you have done?" he snapped, "The child's six! No matter how smart he is, or how mature he acts, he is still just a boy! It was either make a break for it, stay there and be caught, or make him move far quicker and far softer than is possible for anyone at that age!" he threw his hands up, got to his feet and began to pace restlessly. "We will be able to move out within the next week. It's getting too stressful over here - Jean's going to end up driving himself mad with his books, Targent is going to continue to hang around that house, and I am finding it harder and harder to keep Jean's presence a secret..."

Raymond trailed off, his anger dying with his words. "I... don't... know how to look after a child," he said slowly, the fact hitting him full on, "Mrs Tigget, what if -"

The old woman held up a single hand, halting Raymond mid-sentence. "You're doing fine right now," she said firmly, "Jean already looks up to you. I can see that. Stop worrying yourself, or you'll get wrinkles early." Raymond gave a half hearted smile, "Now, about those movers. How does next Wednesday sound?"

The following week, both Raymond and Jean stood on the doorstep, watching the trucks rumble away down the road. Mrs Tigget stood beside them, clutching her well used handkerchief and blowing her nose.

"You be good, Jean," she was saying to the boy, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, "Don't give Mister Raymond any grey hairs too early. And that means no more life-threatening stunts, all right?" she pulled away and ruffled his hair with a teary smile, and Jean grinned back, but Raymond didn't miss the gleam in his eyes as he turned away and glanced up at the hill.

"Now, you," the old lady began, turning to Raymond, "stop worrying so much! You'll both be fine. And remember that I'll always be just a phone call away, so if you need me..."

Raymond managed a smile. "Thank you, Clarice. For everything."

Mrs Tigget just blew her nose into her handkerchief and clasped his hand tightly.

Inside the car, Jean was already reading his beloved book of '_The Many Adventures of Jean Descole_.' Raymond started the vehicle and slowly pulled out of the driveway, tooting the horn at Mrs Tigget as she waved them off and slid out onto the road.

"Mister Raymond," Jean started from the back seat, "Can you really tame wolves like dogs?"

Raymond glanced back at him using the rear-view mirror. "I don't know, little one. We'll have to find out some day."

Jean nodded and closed his book, staring blankly out the window, twisting in his seat only when he realised that they wouldn't be passing his old house.

"My father would have loved to have a pet wolf," he said wistfully, almost tearfully. Raymond almost ran the car off the road as he finally realised:

The white-trousered Targent General had sounded practically identical to Bronev Reinel. But it couldn't have been him... could it?

A**N: Hrm. Hrm, hrm, hrm... Well, reviews and constructive criticism on this chapter really would be highly appreciated. I don't feel as confident in this chapter as I did the others... I hope you liked it!**

**Peace is a blessing, so treasure it always!**

**Noe.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Little One.**

**AN: Heh. I know. This took so much longer to post, but I had all these assessments to work on for school, and that ended in a lot of late nights... which meant practically no time to write anything. But now I'm all done! (Don't worry! I didn't fall off any cliffs that just spontaneously appear out of thin ai -) So, chapter four! Another time skip. This time about ten years... Into the future, that is.**

**Disclaimer: Ah. Now, all of you, read that word. Yes, that's right! DISCLAIMER. And do you all know what a DISCLAIMER is? Good. Then I don't need to tell you. If you don't know what a disclaimer is... then go and ask The Doctor. He has a 51st century dictionary. He'll be sure to know!**

* * *

Teenagers were not easy to deal with. Raymond had decided this long ago, just after Jean turned twelve. He had never imagined that he would be worrying this much over the boy four years later - Jean had always been, and still was, a very quiet and secretive young man. But right now Raymond was not only worrying: he was panicking.

The boy had completely disappeared. He wasn't hidden behind any books in his room, neither was he in the cellar, creating another one of his machines. There was no answer of '_Here_, Raymond!' when he called the boy's name, no pattering of feet, no clink of a piece of metal being dropped. Then, in the living room, he had found the letter.

It was addressed to 'Mister Jean Descole', and the paper was damp. Raymond, just after looking at the envelope, felt his throat already tighten up with dread. He shook the paper open and read:

_Mister Descole,_

_On behalf of the government organisation of Targent, I write to inform you of the restriction of our severely classified information to outsiders. Your inquiries are unable to be met. We ask you cease your demands or else suitable measures shall be taken. This is your only warning._

_Signed,_

_Bronev Reinel, Commander of Targent._

As Raymond read the letter through, he first felt shocked at Jean's careless display of details, then worried as he read, over and over again, 'suitable measures shall be taken', and then, finally, he froze as his eyes rested on the signature at the bottom.

He knew _exactly_ where Jean was.

Raymond swept his coat from the hook and stepped out into the bitter winter weather. The wind stung his face as he walked, or rather, 'ran', and the usually golden sunset was reduced to an ash grey behind the blanket of clouds. He strode down the street, up the street, past the Christmas specials and happy shoppers, and all the while he felt as though a part of him was crying with the boy just blocks away.

At this time of the evening, the park on the outskirts of London was deserted. Jean had come here often just after the news had reached them that his mother was dead - over a year too late. Raymond remembered the many sleepless nights he had been through, listening intently to hear whether Jean would sneak outside again. Of course, whenever the boy did slip away, Raymond would find him in exactly the same place every time: hidden in the bushes in the park. And every time Raymond approached him, the boy would look up and say, by means of an explanation; "I just didn't want to wake you." They both knew that what this really meant was: "I just didn't want you to hear me."

Only then, it had not been winter. It had been frightening enough - the concept of a seven - nearly eight - year old boy out on his own. But Raymond knew that Jean - now a teenager and too over-emotional for his own good - was more likely to do something very, very, stupid.

The empty swing to his right creaked ominously as Raymond slowed to a wary walk. He veered off the path and to the right a few steps past the playground slide, and slipped into the bushes that were clumped there. He let out a long, slow breath of relief as he caught sight of Jean, curled under one bush, eyes like smoldering ashes - a sight Raymond had now forced himself to get used to.

The man slipped down beside the teenager and looked at him for a while, before murmuring, in a gentle, soft voice; "I'm sorry."

Jean sniffed, "I should have guessed," he said, and his voice was strangled.

Raymond shook his head sadly. "Nobody could have imagined it. Stop being so hard on yourself, young one. Your father -"

"My father is _dead_," Jean hissed through clenched teeth, "He died the day he became a part of those... those monsters. That man," he continued, voice wavering, "That man who we saw at my house all those years ago, that man who the others called _General_..." His voice trailed away, but then his head snapped up, and Raymond was made to look right back into those fiery eyes.

"You knew," The boy breathed, "You knew it was him the whole time, even then -"

"Now," said Raymond sternly, but not unkindly, "Just wait a moment -"

But Jean was already inching backwards, away from him, "You knew this whole time," the boy repeated dazedly, his eyes - an inferno of rage and sadness - now filling up with betrayal as well.

Never had Raymond felt so hurt before.

"Listen," he began, "Just stop and listen, please -" but Jean was shaking his head, looking more than ever the lost and confused child that he really was, darting backwards all the while.

Raymond choked back his welling sense of regret and grabbed Jean's wrist, effectively stopping him in his tracks - the boy froze, staring straight at him "I suspected," the man said slowly, and with great emphasis, "That he could have been your father. _Suspected_. I didn't have any proof, Jean, and I thought it... unlikely..." Raymond let his voice fade into the frosty air, and for a moment the two gazed unblinkingly at the other. Then Jean seemed to go limp.

"He's dead," the teenager whispered, and then the anger returned. "He's a monster, Raymond! He threatens people, he has an army there at his command to do everything for him on a whim - and he's killed people, Raymond! I've read about what he's done, and back then I didn't know... I didn't think him capable... I didn't..."

Jean raised his head from his knees.

"I didn't _think_."

And he was running, dragging Raymond up with him, out of the bushes, through the park gate, back up the considerably quieter street, and then they stopped. Jean looked up - only slightly - at Raymond, expression desperate and confused.

"What are you doing?" the boy cried, "We need to hurry! Don't you realise what I've done? They know my name now! They know... they could know everything! Raymond, our house -"

Raymond nodded. "They know your name," he muttered darkly, "But Jean, you didn't give them our address?"

It was barely a question at all, more of a statement, but the teenager could tell that Raymond wanted a reply. "I didn't," he said warily, "I gave them our public postal address. I picked the letter up from the post office." Raymond nodded, and then pointed down the street.

"Well, Targent can certainly move fast."

A group of men in uniforms were moving up the street, stopping passers by and asking questions. Jean's gaze sharpened, and his breath hitched. Then he began to tug Raymond up the hill again.

"We need to get the book!" the boy hissed, dashing unwanted, angry tears from his eyes, "If they really are looking for me, then they'll find our house and the book. And the book is the thing that they need." Raymond must have looked incredulous, for Jean had added, in a defiant voice, "We can't let them win."

And for that split second, Raymond saw the six year old boy standing in his old living room, telling him that 'Evil people aren't supposed to win'.

The expression on Jean's face right now was identical to the one that he had worn ten years ago. Raymond found himself, as though in the midst of a dream, nodding slowly, and allowing himself to be dragged along behind the desperate teenager.

Then a vision flashed before his eyes of a man, hidden behind a mask, wearing that exact same expression.

_"Your views on world domination disgust me."_

Raymond shook himself from his stupor with a start, already feeling like something was going to go wrong.

The two of them reached the house, and the door was unlocked, just as Raymond had left it. Jean raced upstairs, and there was silence for a full minute before there came a shout:

"No, no, _no!_"

Raymond's eyes narrowed as Jean came back downstairs again, face scrunched in concern.

"It's gone," he informed Raymond with a panicky edge to his words, "It must have been taken!"

Despite himself, Raymond let out a shaky, relieved breath. "If you can't find it, they never will. It's not the book they want, Jean, it's the person who asked whatever questions _you_ asked. You're a risk to their organisation!"

The was a click behind them. "Quite right," a said a gruff voice, "Now turn around, nice and slow. Both of ya."

Raymond got a quick glimpse of the absolute burning fury and contempt etched into Jean's face before he spun on his heel. Two beefy men stood, just out of the shadows of the wall. One held a gun, and the other held Jean's precious book.

_"Why, you_ -" the teenager started, but the first - and bigger - man cut him off.

"So you're our little problem," he sneered, "Well, I expected you to be older."

"And I expected never to have the chance to speak with an ape," Jean shot straight back. Raymond closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths. When he opened them again, both men were glaring.

"Watch your tongue, boy," said the first man, his face reddening - with rage, embarrassment or both, Raymond couldn't tell. "You have _no idea_ what we're capable of."

Jean clenched his fists. "Oh, don't I?"

The second man finally spoke up. "Let's just get this over with. Shoot the brat and leave. Maybe the other one as well."

Raymond felt his gaze harden as a spark of fear lit in his heart, and he glanced at Jean, trying to convey as much of the word 'run' in his gaze as possible. But the teenager was doing something entirely unexpected: he was relaxing, allowing every inch of tension that had been there before to slip away. Raymond stared, wondering what the boy could be planning now.

"Get outside with the book," the first man ordered the second, "I'll finish 'em off." The second man nodded, and he was about halfway across the room before Jean sprang.

The boy leapt over the second man's head, kicking him squarely in the nose as he went. The man went down without a sound. Jean spun to meet the other, who was slack-jawed with shock, but a little more prepared as Jean leapt forward again. Raymond resisted the urge to cover his eyes as the first man fumbled with the gun for a moment, before firing a few shots. They missed, and soon the first man joined the second on the floor. Jean looked up at Raymond with a half smile.

"I knew that it would come in handy," he said, and scooped the book up from where it had been dropped on the floor.

Raymond shook his head slowly, as though trying to shake Jean's hard expression from his mind, wanting to ask him where and how he had learnt all that. "We'll need to move to the office," Raymond said instead, referring to the rather spacious flat he had purchased years ago. _Just in case_, he remembered himself thinking, "Pack as much as you can. We never know when those men we saw on the street may come up, or when these two will wake up."

The teenager glared down at the two prone forms on the floor, and then left. But Raymond was almost sure that he heard the boy mutter: "Not for a while."

The next few minutes was a rush of stuffing suitcases with as much as they could find, clanking down the stairs, up the stairs, and then forcing the suitcases into the back of their rather small car. Raymond knew that he had never felt this nervous, but Jean seemed the exact opposite. The more the boy stalked past the living room and the foot of the stairs, the more his expression hardened, until it reminded Raymond of a mask - a mask of calculating calm.

The moment they pulled out of the driveway, Raymond allowed himself to relax. Beside him, Jean kept his cold mask over his features. But the man's relief was short lived as they rounded the bend -

To be stopped by Targent soldiers.

Raymond tried to keep his panic from showing as he rolled down his window. A thin, scraggly looking man approached the car.

"Sir," the man said in a no-nonsense tone, "Do you happen to know of anyone who goes by the name 'Jean Descole'?"

Raymond swallowed, "Can't really say that I do," he said, forcing an apologetic smile, "Sorry."

The Targent soldier was still and silent for a moment. His eyes drifted over Jean, who refused to look anywhere but ahead, and then he nodded.

"Continue," the soldier said sharply, and the men in front of them stepped away. Raymond smiled as much as his nerves would allow, and the car trundled off, leaving the group of Targent officials behind. Beside him, Jean let his mask slip.

"They're like animals!" he snarled, "Like dogs kept on a leash, until let loose by their _master_!" The teenager spat this last word out like poison. Raymond, who had finally calmed his frantic heart, blew out a long, slow breath.

"You know that you cannot go by 'Jean Descole' anymore, young one," he began, but Jean interrupted.

"It's my name, Raymond! I can't just drop it!" The boy probably sounded harsher than he meant to, but Raymond ignored this.

"I didn't say that," the man continued patiently, "Or at least, I didn't mean it. Now that Targent's after you under that name, you'll have to use another one when dealing with... more public matters."

"Done," Jean snapped in an annoyed tone, "We can use the one that I use for school. Simon Foster. Easy enough."

When the two had arrived in London ten years ago, Jean had insisted that Raymond enroll him in school under a different name to 'Jean Descole.'

"Two names mean that I can change whenever I like!" the boy had told him seriously when Raymond asked Jean why he wanted this, and even back then, Raymond had seen the glimmer in the boy's eyes. It made the man feel as though Jean had a lot more reasons than he was letting on.

Over the years, Simon Foster and Jean Descole became two very different people. Simon Foster continued to excel in everything there was, but had a special love for archaeology. At home, Jean Descole was into science, building all types of contraptions and testing different theories. Raymond had always thought that having these two names was absolutely pointless, but had relented anyway to calling Jean 'Simon' while at school.

In the last few years, the two names seemed to be for a purpose other than to give Jean two personas. With 'Simon Foster' now in his final year, having being excelled two grades, there was an obvious goal meaning to be reached. However, Jean - or Simon - had not told Raymond what this goal actually was.

Raymond glanced sideways at the boy with a thoughtful expression. "And this has something to do with your eventual career, yes?"

Jean didn't look at him. "Perhaps."

"Are you going to tell me?" Raymond already knew the answer to this one. He had asked it many times before.

"Will I need to?"

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**AN: Ahem. So, that's one way to end a chapter. Please tell me what you think! After not writing for so long I feel as though my writing quality has deteriorated. Oh, and sorry about how short this chapter is. But I think that the length of the last chapter was a bit of a one-off. Thanks to all of those who read!**

**Peace is a blessing, so treasure it always!**

**Noe.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Little One.**

**AN: Heh... I must make up an excuse for leaving it this long... ah... hrm... welll... (I know! I'll sidetrack them!) Now you see, dear reviewers, I have read your reviews, and have thanked you personally... via telepathy... since I have come to the very important conclusion that it is far easier for me to thank you via story updates. For updating stories, that is... I'm no longer making sense. Never mind! Here are my individual, utmost thanks:**

**Em: Well, thank you, sister dear! Yes, I suppose I'll have to end up putting little 'bonus episodes' on here. Requests, requests...**

**Abitat Eco: Thanks! Well, Targent's just evil that way... Yep, poor little Dessy. I'm glad you like it!**

**The Mocking J: Yep... Ten years is a very big time skip. That's why I'm adding bonus chapters to fill in the gaps when this is finished! Thanks so much!**

**Miss Descole: Ha ha! I loved writing that bit! Targent deserves to have their faces jumped on... Thank you!**

**MrsCliveDove: I'm really glad that you can see it like that! I always imagine my writing as cutscenes too... Thank you so much for reviewing!**

**Anyway, this chapter is certainly more lighthearted. I need a break from doom and gloom... But I've already got an idea for a doom and gloom fic! :( Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Must I really, truly write this? Really? Are you sure? Oh, you pushy people... Fine. I DO NOT OWN PROFESSOR LAYTON OR THERE WOULD ALREADY BE A DESSY-CENTRIC SERIES!**

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Targent had still not left.

Not that Raymond or Jean had really expected them to, but two weeks seemed to be pushing it a little too far. They had already had a lot of close shaves when sneaking into their old house to scavenge what they could.

Raymond wasn't surprised when he had found most of their belongings strewn across the house, often damaged or ruined, but Jean had been enraged.

"How could they?" he had seethed upon returning from one of their 'house raids', "They have no right!" but whether they had any right or not made no difference to Targent, and soon enough the two had taken all they could, including Jean's new invention.

His so called 'excavating machine'.

It was actually a vacuum, a dud taken from the shop Raymond worked in. Jean had repaired it, adding a few 'minor adjustments' along the way.

"Oh, they're really nothing," Jean had told him dismissively when Raymond had asked him about these 'adjustments', "I just reversed the suction and manipulated the tube to 'eat up', if you like, the residue left behind by the knives. Oh, I added them behind the wheels to weaken the ground for the drill. Sorry about that, by the way. We'll find some new cutlery somewhere, I'm sure!"

At this point Raymond must have been shaking, for Jean had eyed him and said, "Maybe the garden isn't the best place to test this? Ah, and maybe I shouldn't tell you about the chainsaw yet..."

It was a rare show of humour, and so Raymond had decided not to spoil the boy's fun, even if it was only temporary. He had been on the verge of confiscating the ridiculous machine that day, wondering what on earth a sixteen year old boy would want with such a thing. Now, he almost wished he had.

It was the last weekend before the end of term, and Jean had taken advantage of his spare time to go down and take a walk in the park.

With his trusty pet excavating machine, of course.

At eleven o'clock at night.

Pulling on his coat and racing through the dreary weather was already a too familiar experience for Raymond these days. _But really_, he thought to himself as he vaulted himself over the park gate, _it hasn't been all that bad for me._

He stopped once inside and listened intently, hearing, after a few seconds:

_Vroop-vroom-vroop-vroom-vroop-cack!_

Raymond warily turned to the right and pushed through the trees he found there, stopping short on the other side as he was greeted by the sight of the old park fountain. Or the lack thereof, to be precise.

"I think it actually works!" Jean exclaimed from beside him, and Raymond jumped, then frowned at the glowing teenager.

"Yes," he said, "I think it does. Now that you've destroyed the fountain, young one, I'm glad that you have come to that decision," the smile died from Jean's face and he slowly looked up at Raymond - who was in an unusually angry mood. "Was this totally necessary, Jean?"

The boy at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Well," he started, but was cut off by Raymond's sigh as the fight was drained out of him.

"Never mind," the man said resignedly, "They were planning to build a new fountain anyway." He lowered himself onto the grass - which was thankfully still intact - and motioned for Jean to do the same, "You have to stop sneaking off, little one. Targent is still lurking around here."

Jean's emotions switched to grave faster than Raymond could blink. "I know," he said evasively, "Oh, Raymond, I know."

The man had raised an eyebrow at this - albeit a worried one - but chose to remain silent as Jean withdrew into a moody shell beside him. In front of them, the excavating machine rumbled into view. If Raymond didn't know better, he would have said that the silhouette of the invention looked funny. It was a small, rattling lump with two large, sharp looking objects dragging along behind it and a large tube with a cone on the end plunging all over the place. At the front, there was the blade of what was unmistakably a chainsaw spinning round and round like a lasso. Raymond turned to Jean and smirked.

"I thought you said that it worked."

Jean withdrew from himself then, looking indignant. "It does!" he spluttered, "But I just can't really control it after I turn it on... That doesn't mean that it doesn't work!" Raymond must have still looked dubious, for Jean grumbled something under his breath and returned to staring moodily at the rumbling machine. He perked up again seconds later, suddenly looking nervous. Then Raymond heard them: voices.

"Into the trees!" Jean hissed, "Raymond, get into the trees!" Raymond needed little prompting, and the two of them scrambled up the branches and into the thicker foliage just as two figures came into view. A young couple, Raymond presumed. One of them stopped with a gasp.

"Oh, Bill, look at that!" This one was a girl, if her voice was anything to judge by. The other - a squarely built figure, turned to look at Jean's rampaging excavating machine.

"Bah, probably some vandal's idea of a joke," 'Bill' then saw the fountain, and he let out a cry of horror, "Now that is inexcusable! Which villain dared do that?"

Beside him on the branch, Jean rolled his eyes and let out a soft snort. Raymond shushed him, but it was too late. Bill looked up.

"Stay there, Caroline," he warned in a low voice, "There's someone else here."

He began to slowly move forward, and behind him Caroline began to clutch at her heart dramatically. "Oh, Bill! Don't get hurt! What will I do if anything happens to you!"

Bill, obviously wanting to impress his girlfriend, paused and listened intently for a moment. Raymond held his breath, but then the young man relaxed and turned back to the girl behind him.

"They must have run off," he reported, "But even so, we must report this too the police. No criminal should get away with this!"

Caroline smiled and kissed him soundly on the lips. Jean blanched and mimicked gagging. Raymond stopped him with a frown, and the couple hurried off. Once they were out of sight, Jean practically exploded.

"What a pathetic man!" he exclaimed, "I never thought I'd ever see someone so full of themselves. And that Caroline!" Jean pulled a face and raised the pitch of his voice in a surprisingly accurate imitation; "Oh, Bill. What would I do without you, Bill? Save me from the vanished criminals, Bill!"

It took a lot of effort for Raymond not to laugh. "Now, now," he said instead, "Let's just take this machine and go home. Who knows when the police will get here!"

Jean nodded, and scrambled down the tree to his slowing invention, reaching over to flick the 'off' switch and almost had his head taken off by the chainsaw in the process. Raymond took the item in his arms and walked back over to the gate. Together, the two of them climbed out of the park and began the long journey back to the flat. All the way, Jean muttered about 'insufferable idiots' and 'dullards' and 'fools' and 'nitwits'.

Raymond glanced at him as they neared the flat, "I think I've seen him before," he said conversationally, and Jean nodded enthusiastically.

"You have," he assured the man, "His name is Bill Hawks. He used to go to my school, until he graduated. He was planning to become a scientist along with that Dimitri fellow... They wanted to build a time machine. Bill was such a stuck up idiot that I thought they would end up in an argument and scrap the whole idea!" Jean smirked a little, "Those two are going to find a flaw with their invention when they build it: neither of them have realised that they need to guide the hamanier particles through a nuclear flux before they send it through the temporal vortex."

Raymond smiled softly and nodded dumbly, and soon Jean fell quiet.

Later on, as they entered the flat, Jean remarked casually, "I overheard some of the Targent soldiers while I was in the park." Raymond froze, and turned to look into those suddenly flaming eyes, "They were talking about their commander being here. Do you think that it's him?"

The burning intensity of Jean's gaze made Raymond feel as though his own eyes were having holes drilled into them, and he answered, as delicately as he could, "I don't know." When Jean remained silent he added, "Now, off to bed with you. Tomorrow may be Sunday, but that gives you no reason to be awake at this hour. Go on, then!"

Jean nodded once and vanished down the hall. Raymond looked at the machine in his arms and sighed, not having the heart to throw it away, putting it as high up in the cupboard as he could reach. Of course, Jean was as tall as he was now, so it really made no difference...

With yet another sigh, Raymond retired to his own room, looking forward to a hopefully peaceful sleep. His dreams, however, were anything but:

They were full of Jean riding his excavating machine, chasing his father around and around London. In the Background Raymond could see Bill Hawks exclaiming, very loudly; "Only imbeciles would create such a meager invention! My superiority in the scientific field is clear." Targent stood nearby, casually leafing through some of Raymond's old books...

The next morning, at the breakfast table, Jean seemed to have had a no better sleep than Raymond - his eyes were bloodshot and half closed - though Raymond suspected this to be from studying texts all night rather than unusual dreams.

There also seemed to be a commotion going on outside - there were a lot of voices, and opening and shutting of doors. Therefore, it came as no real surprise when they heard their doorbell being rung. Jean, who had been sent to check who it was, came scampering down the hall moments later, saying "I have some urgent and important work to do, Raymond. Could you check the door? Thank you!" Raymond had just enough time to see his furiously reddening face before Jean shut himself in his room.

Raymond, who was feeling rather interested in the person on the other side of the door by now, got up and peeked through what Jean called a 'spy hole'. It was a girl. A very tall girl with fair skin and long red hair and dark green eyes. Raymond opened the door to her, and she smiled.

"Hello!" she said brightly, "My name is Frieda Brooks, and on behalf of the Children's Hospital Foundation, I'm here to accept any donations that you may have, in order to help the children of our country live a better and happier life." She ended this speech with a smile. Raymond nodded.

"Of course," he said, already digging around in his wallet. He pressed a note into her hands and smiled back at her. "That's a good cause, young lady."

She continued to grin at him. "Thank you!" And with a swish of her red locks, she was off towards the next door.

Once Raymond was back inside, Jean came slinking out of his room. Raymond looked at him with an amused expression.

"Who was she then?"

Jean looked startled. "Who? Her? I don't know! I've never seen her before in my life! Why are you asking me? I don't even know her name!"

Throughout this entire little announcement, Jean's voice continued to rise in pitch until it was almost a squeak. Raymond nodded, unconvinced.

"Her name was Frieda," he supplied, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye, "Frieda... Books or something."

"Brooks," Jean corrected automatically, and Raymond looked up, now even more amused than before.

"Oh?" he questioned, "I thought that you didn't know her name." Raymond's smile must have been a little too knowing, for Jean went bright red, spluttering incoherently. Then he turned and vanished into his room again. Raymond chuckled and picked up the newspaper, reading the first few headlines before stopping dead, the mirth draining from his face.

_Government Organisation Targent to take over search for park vandal_, it read. And while Raymond knew that it would be a while before Targent discovered their location, he would have to start making backup plans soon.

* * *

**AN: Errrrr... Well, so much for no doom and gloom. It was mostly lighthearted though, so that counts as something! And Dessy had a teenage crush! So fun to write about... Next time I will be skipping ahead into Dessy's early twenties, so if anyone has any requests as to what they want me to write about, please tell me and I can add them into the bonus chapters at the end!**

**Farewell, young padawans!**

**Noe.**


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